Читать книгу The Hidden - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 9

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“The invitation will always stand,” FBI agent Brett Cody said, glancing over at Diego. “I’ve got to say, amigo, you’re the best partner I’ve ever had. So,” he added, “even if you don’t accept right now, we’ll always want you in the Krewe. And that really means something. No one gets into the Krewe by asking—it’s invitation only.”

Diego looked over at his partner. Brett was finishing out his last day at the Miami field office; he’d transferred in to the FBI’s Krewe of Hunters—the elite unit that investigated crimes that crossed over into the supernatural—when they’d closed a recent major case, a series of “zombie” murders that had rocked Miami.

Not only that, but Brett was also now engaged to Lara Mayhew, who’d been key in helping them solve the case—in part by calling in longtime friends who were part of the Krewe—after a truly whirlwind romance. Not that he should comment on that. He and Scarlet had gotten married less than two months after meeting.

Would they have made it, if not for the accident?

He didn’t know. And there was no reason for him to doubt Brett and Lara just because of his own failure.

His mind returned to the recent case, when they’d been aided by the ghosts of several of the victims. Brett had actually been visited by them, and though he’d balked, he’d finally come to believe.

Diego wondered why he himself really had no problem believing in ghosts. He’d seen the murdered couple—Miguel and Maria Gomez—and never questioned the reality of the experience.

Then again, he’d grown up Cuban and Irish, and between the two sides of the family, he’d heard stories about ghosts, pixies, chupacabras, espíritus and all kinds of otherworldly beings. Maybe because of that, he hadn’t even been shaken when he’d seen Miguel’s and Maria’s ghosts.

Maybe that was why he’d been invited to join the Krewe along with Brett. But the Krewe only had offices in New York City and Alexandria, with teams dispatched all over the country as needed, and for years he’d wanted to fight the good fight in his native Miami. Still, it was hard thinking that he and Brett would no longer be partners; they’d worked together for several years and had become good friends. He’d always felt safe knowing that Brett had his back.

Of course, for now Brett would be coming and going. Lara wasn’t giving up her job at the Sea Life Center, so they were going to be long-distance lovers for a while. And he knew that the Bureau could transfer him anywhere, but unless his bosses forced him to leave Miami, he just wasn’t ready to move yet.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Diego assured Brett. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

That morning they’d arrested a human trafficker named Amelio Parva and his partner, known only as Pancho, in the act of betraying and abandoning at sea a group of Cuban refugees who’d paid handsomely to be brought safely ashore. With the bad guys in custody, the rescued refugees had been taken to a detainment center, where Diego and Brett had just arrived so they could sign off on the paperwork.

“Here’s hoping they all get asylum,” Brett muttered as he parked. The people being held here weren’t criminals, but even so, the facility was surrounded by barbed wire. Once inside, though, it wasn’t so much a prison as it was a hospital.

Diego finished signing, then handed the papers to Brett and wandered over to look through a window into a social room, where the newest refugees had been allowed to gather.

Diego noted a woman sitting in a rocking chair. She was probably about seventy, gray-haired, very thin, with sharp blue eyes. She noticed him, too, and stared at him hard.

She lifted a hand and beckoned him over. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she had something important to say to him.

Brett touched his shoulder. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Hang on. I just want to talk to someone for a minute,” Diego said.

“I’m not sure if we should—” Brett began.

A doctor exited the room just then, and Diego went over to him. “Hey, we were on the detail that found these people today. Mind if I go speak to one of them?” Diego asked.

“I don’t see why not,” the doctor said.

As Diego stepped into the room, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him.

The old woman was still watching him, and she lifted her hand to him again.

He walked over and hunkered down by her chair.

She smiled—a toothless smile that was still somehow beautiful. “Gracias, gracias,” she said, then picked up his hand and brought it to her cheek. “I will live out my days here,” she said in heavily accented English, smiling, and glancing up at Brett, who had followed and was standing just behind Diego. “Thanks to you.” Then she met Diego’s eyes again, her own bright and piercing. “But you—you must be very careful. And you must go where you are called. You understand? You will know. You must go where you are called.”

He rose, smiling, his mind spinning with thoughts. He wondered if she had been considered a bruja, a witch, back home, if young girls had come to her, wanting to know if they would marry the loves of their lives.

“Thank you, senora,” he told her. “Muchas gracias.”

She smiled sweetly. “You are a good man, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Listen with your soul and you will survive.”

“Thank you, senora,” he repeated.

He joined Brett, ready to leave, but stopped when she spoke again.

This time her voice was odd—it was suddenly deep and husky, and she sounded like a man. Stranger still, there wasn’t a hint of an accent as she spoke.

“I just want to protect her, too.”

Diego spun around to look at the old woman. Her head was down, her eyes closed, and she appeared to be sleeping. No one else was anywhere nearby.

He shook off his unease, and they left the facility. Diego was glad that his mother’s parents had come to the States when they had, aware that there was trouble ahead.

“She liked you,” Brett teased.

Diego shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

“You know, you are divorced, and Lara has a lot of friends,” Brett said.

Diego stopped walking and laughed. “No. No, no, no. I don’t need to be fixed up. I can find my own dates if I want to. I’m cool, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” Brett said.

* * *

Dinner was delicious. Scarlet had chosen one of the town’s many barbecue restaurants, where she’d run into a number of people she’d already met casually. Afterward she headed down to one of the bars where a local band played live every night.

It was on her way there that the one flaw in the evening happened.

As Scarlet walked down the sidewalk, dodging people—including a number of children who asked their parents to buy them “moose droppings,” the local name for little balls of chocolate aimed at the tourists—she was approached by a man in his thirties wearing jeans and a striped cowboy shirt. She would have found him handsome and appealing if the weird way he’d come on to her hadn’t been so unnerving.

“You need to be careful,” he told her without preamble.

“Excuse me?” she said in shock.

“You shouldn’t be running around alone,” he said. “You have to be careful. There’s something going on.”

“I’m always careful, thank you,” she said, trying to get past him and be polite at the same time. “And what’s going on is that you’re bothering me.”

“Be careful,” he persisted.

He gripped her arm, but she was so upset she didn’t feel anything. She paused and stared at him, then realized people were staring at her.

“Listen—” Scarlet began.

“You’re one of us. And they’ll come after you. They’ll want you dead, too.”

Really shaken now, she jerked her arm away. “Leave me alone,” she said firmly. People were still staring at her, and that upset her further. She loathed making a scene. She left him behind and hurried down the street.

Once she was in the bar, she felt fine. She’d been there several times before, and the drummer in the house band, Eddie Keye, had even asked her out. She’d told him the truth, that she wasn’t ready to date again yet. He’d accepted her refusal with a smile, and they’d become friends. She waved to him as she entered, then took a seat in the corner, where he joined her during the break between sets and she told him about her strange encounter.

When the band had finished for the night, Eddie walked her to her car. He assured her that he would deck the guy if they ran into him again. “Probably just a drunk,” he said.

Scarlet shook her head. “He didn’t seem drunk.”

“A loony, then,” he said reassuringly.

They’d reached her car by then, and she thanked him for escorting her, then hesitated. “It’s just been a weird day,” she said, and told him about the strange pictures on her camera.

“Did it come with a memory card? They might have been there when you bought it,” he said. “Some practical joker’s idea of funny. I say you should just chalk it up to the fact that the world is crazy and let it go.”

It was good advice. “I’ll do that,” she promised.

“Drive safe, and call me when you’re ready to hit the trail to romance again,” he told her cheerfully.

“You’re my number one guy,” she assured him.

She waved to Eddie and started the car, wondering why she still felt so uncomfortable.

Scarlet had the feeling that someone was watching her. Not the man who had approached her before. Someone different. Someone who wouldn’t come up to her but would stalk her—and then pounce.

She shook off the feeling, telling herself she was just feeling residual anxiety after the strange events of the day.

It was time for bed.

She drove carefully up the steep winding road to the ranch. She was still becoming accustomed to getting around here and was dreading her first winter.

She felt lighter heading back, convinced that someone had messed with the camera, and that natural vibrations, whether in the earth or the museum itself, had toppled the mannequin. No big deal.

The night was beautiful and very dark. She drove slowly and was glad of it when a buck leaped onto the road and stopped directly in front of her. He simply stood there, caught in her headlights.

“Think maybe you could move now?” she said after a long moment.

When he didn’t budge, she gave her horn a tap and was grateful when he bounded off into the surrounding woods.

She drove on, frowning as she saw what seemed to be a sea of light at the Conway Ranch.

There were eleven guests staying there, but she hadn’t heard anything about a campfire planned for that night. As she drew closer, she realized that the glow seemed to come from a multitude of headlights.

Her heart leaped into her throat when she got close enough to see that five cop cars and an ambulance with lights ablaze were parked on the property. A cop standing in the driveway motioned her to a stop and gestured for her to roll down her window.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m Scarlet Barlow. I work at the museum and live above it. What’s happened?” she asked anxiously. “Ben and Trisha. Are they okay?”

He nodded to her gravely. “Yes, the owners are all right.”

“What’s happened?” she persisted.

“May I have your ID, please?”

She handed it over. He looked from it to her, aiming his flashlight at her face and making her blink.

“Says here your name is McCullough.”

“I’m divorced. I haven’t changed my ID yet,” she told him. “See? My license says Scarlet Barlow McCullough.”

He was looking at her as if she was a hardened criminal. “They’re definitely going to want to talk to you,” he said.

“They?”

“The detectives.”

“But—”

“You’re the one with the camera. The one who took pictures of dead people. The pictures that mysteriously disappeared, right?” he asked, his voice hard-edged.

“Someone messed with my camera, yes, but I don’t see why that calls for police response.”

“Really? Not when two people have been murdered exactly the way your boss says they were in the pictures you showed him? Park your car, please, then follow me. Lieutenant Gray is going to want to see you, pronto.”

* * *

Scarlet had advanced degrees in history and archaeology; she had worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and on an important dig in South Florida. She was bright, fun, cheerful, beautiful and eager for whatever life brought.

She did not tend to hysteria or tears.

Given all that, Diego wasn’t sure how or why he knew instinctively when he answered the phone that she was going to be on the other end.

They were having a small farewell party for Brett at Sea Life, the dolphin facility where Lara Mayhew worked. Brett was flying to DC the next day for orientation. There was talk of him setting up a small Miami office for the Krewe, and if that happened Diego thought maybe he would take them up on their invitation, after all. Meanwhile, he had a party to enjoy.

The food had been catered and set up outside under a large tent. They’d visited the dolphins down at the lagoon earlier, and now everyone was just talking idly.

And yet, when his phone rang, Diego was instantly alert, somehow sure it was going to be his ex-wife.

She’d moved to Colorado, and he hadn’t let her see the ache in his heart when she’d told him she was going.

“Scarlet?” he said without even looking at the caller ID, stepping out into the darkness beneath a sea grape tree.

“Diego, yes, it’s me.”

“How are you? Are you all right?” he asked her anxiously.

“I’m...oh, Diego, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m in real trouble.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” She sounded indignant, even angry.

That was good, he thought. “Then what happened?”

“Two people were murdered, and they think...they think I was involved!”

“Why?”

“My camera. The views here are gorgeous, so I bought a good camera at the Miami airport before my flight out. It was working fine, but then today it took pictures of things that weren’t there. Bodies. Dead bodies. And then they disappeared.”

“The bodies?”

“The pictures!” she said. “The thing is, Ben saw them. Ben Kendall, my boss. He didn’t mean to get me in trouble, he was just so stunned when the bodies were found that he blurted it out about the pictures without thinking. They were killed right here at the ranch. They weren’t guests, and so far no one knows who they are or why they were here. From what I saw on the camera and what the cops have said, the man was cut to shreds and shot, and the woman was just shot. And they think I did it! It’s horrible. And now I’m at the police station, and all I could think to do was call you.”

“They think you did it?” he asked, incredulous. Scarlet wasn’t perfect, and she could certainly get good and angry. But murder? Never.

“Okay, let me get this straight. They’re holding you on suspicion of murder because of pictures that were on your camera but that aren’t there now?” Diego asked.

“Yes.”

“Then they have nothing.”

“Except Ben saw the pictures, too, and he told the police about them, so they think I erased them.”

“They need to get the camera to a police tech and examine the memory card.”

“They already have.”

“And they’re still holding you?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll make some calls, get the right people involved. Just don’t go snapping at anyone until I get there and can straighten things out.”

“I don’t snap.”

“You do when your pride is hurt. But don’t let them get to you, okay? Just be honest with them.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

He suddenly found himself thinking about the refugees they had rescued and the words the old woman had said to him.

But you—you must be very careful. And you must go where you are called. You understand? You will know. You must go where you are called.

He’d always been open to possibilities in life, but he’d never been superstitious or a believer in omens.

But now...

It was time to join the Krewe.

He headed back inside to find Brett, and he prayed that the Krewe really did operate as efficiently and swiftly as he’d heard.

Because with or without official benediction, he was heading west.

He found Brett talking to Matt Bosworth, a longtime Krewe agent, and pulled them aside.

“This Krewe thing—I want in. But first I need help.”

“What is it?” Brett asked.

“I’ve got to get to Estes Park, Colorado, fast. As fast as possible. It’s Scarlet. She’s in trouble. They’re holding her for murder.”

Diego was amazed at the speed with which things happened after that. In short order their transport was set up for early the following morning, and he still had a few hours left to sleep. Luckily he’d taught himself how to sleep in any circumstances, even in the middle of a case.

But that night his sleep was disjointed and troubled. His dreams were of the old woman, and of Scarlet walking toward him through a fog.

A fog filled with the faces of the nameless dead.

* * *

The one place Scarlet had never expected to be in Estes Park was an interrogation room at the police station.

She understood that she wasn’t under arrest, at least not yet. Officially, she had only been asked in for questioning. But the questioning, she quickly realized, was intended to trip her up and lead to her arrest.

Her camera was with the police techs, and she really did understand why they suspected her and didn’t blame Ben for being so shocked that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from talking about the pictures. She hadn’t been allowed to speak with him, but she had seen him and Trisha, arm in arm, standing on the porch together, looking as if they’d been hit by a sledgehammer.

Meanwhile, she was reeling from the fact that two people had been found murdered right where the majestic elk had been standing earlier. Right where the bodies had been in the pictures.

And then there was that wacko in town who had warned her to be careful and had said she was “one of us,” whatever that might mean.

In one day, her world had gone mad.

“Tell me again about your day, Mrs. McCullough,” her interrogator said. Lieutenant Gray was somewhere between thirty-five and forty. He’d started out in a suit, but his jacket was gone now, his sleeves rolled up. His hair was military short, and his eyes were tired, his face haggard. His name fit him very well, she thought.

Though she had told him a dozen times that she was divorced, he insisted on calling her Mrs. McCullough. Somehow it seemed especially painful to hear that name tonight.

They never would have treated her like this if Diego was there, she thought.

And it was true. He would have stopped them cold.

She had told Lieutenant Gray as much. He hadn’t been impressed.

“The guy divorced you, huh?” he’d said at one point, his tone implying that whoever her husband had been, he’d been smart to separate from her.

She felt like a little kid, desperately hoping that someone bigger and tougher really would come to defend her.

And he would come, wouldn’t he? She’d made him her first phone call, and miraculously, he’d answered. He’d certainly sounded as if he intended to get here as soon as possible.

By morning, she hoped.

“Mrs. McCullough?” Gray repeated. “Pay attention. Tell me about your day again.”

“I woke up. I showered. I made tea. I had a bowl of cereal. I checked my email,” Scarlet said. “I went downstairs and spent the morning cataloging a display case of Civil War weapons. I inspected each for its condition, which I noted in the records. I went through the old display cards to find out when each piece was received by the museum. At noon I went back upstairs to my apartment and ate a tuna fish sandwich. No, wait, it was closer to twelve thirty, I think. But the sandwich was definitely tuna,” she said, trying very hard to maintain her temper. “At one o’clock I was back downstairs. I’ve been making notes on the different mannequins, their composition, the year they were donated to or commissioned by the museum or, before the museum’s funding, by the current owner of the Conway Ranch during the years when it was only a private collection. I began working on that project soon after I got here, about two months ago.”

“How late did you work?” he asked her.

“At four thirty I decided it was time to quit for the day. I went back upstairs and got my camera—I purchased it at the airport in Miami when I was coming out here. I have the receipt somewhere in the apartment. Wait—no,” she added, furrowing her brows. “I think it was more like four forty-five. And I didn’t go outside right away. I checked my email again first. Then I went out to take pictures. I saw a bull elk, who was practically posing for me. After that I went back to the ranch, where I talked to Ben Kendall. On the way I saw Angus Fillmore, Terry Ballantree and the Bartons down by the stables. Oh, and...”

“And?” he prompted.

“Horses,” she said gravely. “There were horses at the stables.”

He sat back. “I don’t think you understand the trouble you’re in,” he said severely.

She shook her head. “Why? Over pictures that don’t exist? That we thought we saw hours before the murders probably took place?”

She didn’t know that for a fact, but it had to be true. There certainly hadn’t been any bodies there when she’d taken the pictures.

He pointed a finger at her. “Ben Kendall saw those pictures. They existed—and you erased them as soon as you realized what you’d shown him.”

“Do you want me to tell you about the rest of my day again?” she asked.

“Go on—but we might be where we need to be already.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I went back to the museum. I went upstairs. I heard a thump. I called Ben, wondering if he’d given the key to someone so they could look around the museum. He said he hadn’t. Then he came over and we looked around together. We saw that the statue of Nathan Kendall had fallen over, so we picked it up. He talked about putting in an alarm system, then went back to the house. I got my things and went into town for dinner. I can give you a list of the places I went and the people I talked to.”

He shoved a pad and pencil toward her. “I’ll take it,” he said grimly.

“I’ll be happy to make you a list, but this is ridiculous. I spoke with my ex-husband, and I am not lying to you, he’s a federal agent. He’s on his way here, and he’ll—”

She stopped abruptly. And he’ll show you who’s boss! she’d almost said. Now she wasn’t just thinking like a scared child, she was sounding like one.

“He’ll speak to your superiors and straighten everything out,” she said.

Gray shrugged. “Ex-husband?” he said. “I’m sure he’s just soaring his way right here.”

She felt her cheeks burn.

He didn’t know Diego. Diego would come.

There was a tap at the door. Lieutenant Gray scowled at her and went to answer it, leaving her alone in the interrogation room. She wondered if people were watching her from behind the glass, the way they did on TV.

She took the pad and began to write. A moment later, Lieutenant Gray, looking disgruntled, returned to the room.

“You can go,” he told her.

“Just like that?” she asked surprised.

“I can lock you up for twenty-four hours if you’d rather.”

She stood, anxious to leave. He opened the door for her.

As she passed him, she paused. “Why are you letting me go? It’s not because you believe me.”

“No,” he admitted. “My captain said to let you out. They can’t find anything on your camera to show those pictures were ever there. And,” he added grudgingly, “you were seen in town. Specifically, people remembered seeing you on the street, talking to yourself.”

“I was not talking to myself!” she protested.

Gray shrugged. “One of my own men actually saw you arguing with the air.”

“That’s ridiculous. I was stopped by a strange man and—”

Gray waved a hand, cutting her off. “You want me to hold you for twenty-four hours?”

“No!”

“Then leave. But I’ll be watching you. Even if that ex of yours shows up.”

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she told him, chin held high.

She felt as if everyone was watching her as she walked through the station and out to the street. When she reached the sidewalk, she realized she didn’t have her car—she’d arrived in a police car.

Just as she thought about the best place to catch a cab, she saw that the Kendalls were there, Trisha standing still and watching as Ben paced. She was about to say something when Trisha saw her and came running over.

“Scarlet! This is so awful. Ben is beside himself. They’ve grilled him, too, but they didn’t hold him like they did you.”

Ben had reached them by that point. “Scarlet, I’m so sorry. When the cops told me about the murders, I—I wasn’t thinking. All I could think of was the pictures, and I said... Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Both of you, please don’t worry,” she said. “It’s over.”

“I’m sure they know you could never do anything like that,” Trisha said.

“They don’t, but they do know I was in town at the time of the murders, and they couldn’t find anything in the camera. They didn’t give it back yet, but...it’s over, it’s okay.”

It really wasn’t over, she knew, but it was well past midnight and they were all ready to keel over. “What about the ranch?” she asked. “Who’s looking after the guests?”

Ben waved a hand dismissively. “Linda has the house, and Angus is down at the stables. Six of the guests left, too upset by what happened to stay on. Only Mr. Ballantree, the Bartons and Gigi and Clark Levin are still here.”

“What did happen?” Scarlet asked. “I mean... I know two people were killed but who and how and...?” Her voice trailed off.

“Let’s get to the car,” Trisha suggested. She was the perfect wife for Ben, Scarlet thought. They were lovely people separately as well as great together. Trisha was ready to go along with whatever people wanted, but she was also quick to take charge when she needed to. Tall, lean and athletic, with short gray hair, she fit right in on the ranch.

Together they hurried down the street to the parking lot.

Trisha drove, and she glanced at Scarlet in the rearview mirror and said, “Ben saw them—the bodies, I mean—from a distance, but he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, just that something was there. He went to see what it was, and then he called the police on his cell. He waited there for them, and I kept people away.”

“It was a mess,” Ben said. “Blood everywhere. He was all cut up, and shot, too. The woman...she was just shot.”

They were all silent after that, until they neared the ranch and Trisha said, “You’re more than welcome to stay at the main house, you know, Scarlet.”

“I’m fine, really. Only you and Ben have keys to the museum, and I’ll be sure to lock up. I’m way too tired to pack up and move right now,” Scarlet said. “But thank you.”

There was silence for a minute in the car, and then Trisha said, “I hope you had a nice night in town. I mean, before all this happened.”

“Nice and a little weird,” Scarlet said.

“How so?” Ben asked.

“Just some guy pestering me on the street. But I ran into some friends, and one of them walked me to my car.”

“Maybe something is going on with the planets,” Trisha said, shaking her head.

Scarlet took a deep breath and then asked again, “Who were they—the couple who were killed?”

“We don’t know. The police haven’t released that information yet, pending notification of next of kin,” Trisha informed her.

“Young? Old?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t really look,” Ben said. “I just turned the other way and called 911.”

They were quiet again. They’d reached the ranch. None of them looked toward the woods as they parked and got out of the car.

Trisha slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Let’s see that Scarlet gets upstairs safely. We’ll just walk through the museum and make sure no one’s there.”

“That would be great,” Scarlet said. “Thanks.”

Ben opened the door to the building. Trisha hit the lights. They walked through the museum. It was empty.

Empty, of course, except for the stationary residents standing on their pedestals, bearing silent witness to the night.

“Upstairs,” Trisha said, and started walking up. Ben followed her.

Scarlet followed Ben, then paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the mannequin of Nathan Kendall.

If the artist’s rendering had been a true one, he’d been a handsome man. He’d been captured in time in his early thirties, the age he’d been when he’d died.

His eyes seemed to be wise and world-weary. They’d been painted blue.

For a moment she almost felt as if he would speak.

She forced herself to reach out and touch the statue.

Wood. It was made of wood.

“Scarlet?” Trisha called.

“Coming!”

“We’re right next door,” Trisha reminded Scarlet as she reached the top of the stairs. “And you really are more than welcome there.”

“I know,” Scarlet said. “Thank you. And thank you for waiting for me and driving me home.” She hesitated. “I asked an old friend out here to help. My ex-husband, actually. He’s with the FBI. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Ben asked. “I think that’s great.”

“I’m guessing his partner will be coming with him. They should be here tomorrow, I hope. Sometime in the morning.”

“Wonderful. We’ll get some rooms ready for them,” Trisha said. “For now, let’s check out this whole place, just for safety’s sake.”

They went together from room to room, then wound up in the kitchen, staring at one another.

With everything seemingly safe and nothing more to be done that night, an exhausted Scarlet followed them downstairs and locked up behind them, then made her way back up to her apartment.

She couldn’t help wondering, though, whether she really was going to be all right, or if maybe she should have agreed to sleep at the main house.

After all, two people had been brutally murdered just where the mountain rose to meet the Conway Ranch. She shouldn’t be alone.

But she was exhausted, so exhausted that she didn’t even take off her clothes as she pitched down on the bed.

It wasn’t over, she thought. Not for her. Lieutenant Gray had said so.

But Diego was coming. He had said that he would, and he was always true to his word.

She thought she would never sleep, as her distraught mind kept going over the events of the day.

The pictures on her camera...

And then two people dead just like the people in the photos...

And then she’d been interrogated. The kid who had never stolen so much as a piece of gum.

To her amazement, her eyes finally closed and her mind began to shut down. She was just so tired.

But her dreams were troubled...

Blood was everywhere in her mind’s eye. She could see the dead, and they could see her. She felt their eyes, and the intensity of their regard sent chills up her spine...

Restless, she awoke. She walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. At the kitchen table, she sat sipping it, listening. The museum was quiet. The door below was locked.

Diego would be here soon.

She finished her tea, walked to the window and looked out. Everything was peaceful.

Bizarrely peaceful, given what had happened there in the woods.

And as she stood there, she felt once again that she was being watched.

She told herself that was foolish. “I am alone,” she said into the empty air.

The feeling persisted, but she forced herself back to bed, leaving the door to her room ajar so that she could hear anything that went on in the museum.

Surprisingly, she fell asleep easily, and so deeply that she was untroubled by dreams.

The next thing she knew, she heard birds.

She smiled slightly, waking up. It was nice here, that sound of birds in the morning, with the feel of the sun, strong and warm at this time of year.

She opened her eyes, feeling as if everything would be all right.

Then she realized someone was standing at the foot of her bed, and a scream tore from her lips.

She stopped with a gasp when she saw who that someone was.

The decidedly not-alive statue of Nathan Kendall was staring down at her.